Stab in the Dark
by BloodStainsOnMyKisses
Summary: Bellamy risks everything in order to stop an assassination attempt on Clarke.
1. Injury

**A/N: I do not own any of the characters, or the show.**

 **Picture also not mine.**

 **Please read and review, but most importantly, enjoy!**

* * *

"He shouldn't even be alive, Clarke. Here on the ground, you take what you can get."

"Mom, don't."

"You know it, honey, and I know it. He's very lucky."

"And you're saying there's nothing you can do?"

"No, baby. There isn't."

* * *

He tried to open his eyes. Bright white light shone straight into them, and they instantly closed again. He raised a hand to shield his face from the cold air.

"Jackson, he's awake. Somebody get Abby!"

Arkadia's head doctor arrived, but not before her daughter. Jackson, walkie in hand, was clearly the one who had informed her of Bellamy's consciousness.

"Bellamy?" he heard her voice say. He opened his mouth to call to her but no sound came out.

"Hey, no, don't try to talk. Just rest." Bellamy felt her hand circle his, and suddenly he smelt her lavender perfume.

"Primary check," Abby said, interjecting. "Do you know where you are?"

Bellamy nodded, and clearly Abby was expecting a response. "Arkadia," he whispered.

"Do you know who you are?"

"Bellamy Blake; son of Aurora Blake. Brother to Octavia Blake."

"Do you know why you're here?"

At this, he stopped. "No."

"Do you remember what happened?"

Everything was hazy when he opened his eyes again, this time tolerating the brightness. He looked up to see Clarke's face in front of his.

She looked like she'd been crying. Her eyes were red, and despite the light inside, he could see past the med bay doors into the dark night. He looked back at her face. Dark circles embellished the red rims on her eyes. She had most probably abandoned sleep for the entirety of his unconsciousness. There was gauze taped to her cheek, bleeding. Tempted to stroke it, he held out his hand — but then realised what he was doing and retracted it.

As their eyes met, he shook his head, "No."

"Arkadia was attacked by Trishanakru last night," Clarke said softly.

The Coalition had been torn apart, and of the three clans that opposed them, Trishanakru has been the first to act. The attack had come late at night, when Bellamy had been on patrol. He had heard the alarm, and within minutes there were more guards at scene. He saw a grounder race towards the chancellor's chambers, where Clarke had set up for the night. He groaned as it came back.

"Bellamy, you saved my life."

The grounder had held a sword longer than his own leg. Sharp, glinting, and bloody, it caught Bellamy's attention immediately. He took aim and shot at him repeatedly. Each time, he missed by a hair's breadth, and the assassin entered Clarke's room. Tossing aside his empty rifle, Bellamy ran into the chambers.

He chuckled, and whispered, "You don't make it easy."

Clarke rubbed at her hands as she scoffed at him.

They both remembered how the grounder took large swings at Clarke's bed, with her scrambling each time to avoid its graze. Bellamy grabbed the intruder by the back of his shirt, whipping him away from Clarke. She shuffled around her bedside table, searching for her gun.

The grounder clawed at Bellamy, aiming to kill. He drew blood. As he was about the make a fatal blow, he was yanked back by a very angry Clarke. She held a knife in each hand, swinging mercilessly. The attacks caught him in the arms, but pain did not stop him. He punched at her sides, bruising and splitting her skin. One blow cut straight into her cheekbone, blossoming into a bleeding bruise. His sword came around to Clarke's thigh, ready to run her through.

He took aim and swung the weapon — just as Bellamy grabbed Clarke by either side of the back of her waist and pulled her into the room's corner, shielding her entire body with his. With his back to the grounder, he didn't see as the sword came down, stabbing into his shoulder blades.

Furious that the assassination was interrupted, the Trishanakru soldier hurled a knife into Bellamy's back, and watched his body fall onto Clarke.

"And the grounder?" Bellamy asked as he recollected his memories. Clarke was looking at the floor. "I found my gun in that corner by the clothes. I shot him in the head." Her hand tightened around his as she said the words, afraid of the truth they carried. "My mother operated on you for hours, but she really didn't think you were going to make it."

Bellamy nodded solemnly and tried a few more croaky words, "What made her put in the effort?"

He heard a snort behind him and watched Abby Griffin approach the bed with a glass of water. She handed it to him and said, "Clarke."

He looked at the girl on his bed, and her eyes closed. "I couldn't lose you too," she whispered.

"Hey," he said, and squeezed her hand. "You're not going to."

Abby coughed and brought attention to herself. She focused on her patient, asking him to sit upright if he could.

Bellamy let go of his grip on Clarke's hand to hold onto the bedsides, and felt the loss of her warmth immediately. He lifted himself into a sitting position, almost tipping back into unconsciousness as the blinding pain flashed through his spine. He cried out and Clarke reached to steady him instantly, gripping his bare shoulders to maintain his balance while Abby rearranged the pillows behind him. "It's okay, just relax," she said, easing him back down. He nodded, clutching the bandages wrapped around his upper abdomen. He noticed he didn't have his shirt on, and he was freezing. Abby disappeared to look for a blanket. Beside him, Clarke sniffed and took a deep breath.

"Hey, it's okay," he said, but that was all it took for her to let her tears fall. He gestured for her to come closer, pulling her against him in an effort of comfort her.

"I thought you were dead, Bellamy," she said into his shoulder.

"It's okay. I'm okay." He had one hand in her hair, while the other one lay limp by his side. Her hands encircled his waist as she lay her head on his shoulder. His head rested over hers.

They closed their eyes for a minute, but fell into sleep within seconds.

* * *

When Bellamy woke, it was before Clarke. She still lay beside him, in heavy sleep. She looked peaceful, with her pale blonde hair and a silent snore. Her hand still rested on his waist, a small reminder of the night they had wasted with sleep. He gently lifted her fingers, placing them on Clarke's chest slowly as to not wake her. Then, after removing the blanket off himself, he left her alone to rest.

Pulling a talkie from the pile of his belongings by the bed, he radioed their mechanic.

"Raven, come in." He waited a moment. "Raven, this is Bellamy. Are you there?"

Her voice came back staticky. "Bellamy? You're alive?"

He smiled. "You can't get rid of me that easily, Reyes."

"You had us all worried there, Blake. How do you feel?" Her voice was a mixture of relief and static. He glanced at Clarke beside him and lowered to volume of the talkie to avoid waking her.

"I've been better — but now's not the time. I need you to do some research for me."

"Sure thing, Blake. What do you need?"

* * *

When Clarke got up, Bellamy was already gone. The warm blanket that had been laid on him was now wrapped around her. She could still feel his warmth on it. He hadn't gone far.

"Bellamy?" She called.

He shouldn't have gotten out of bed. She knew the toll it would take on a human to be stabbed in near the spine; any further disturbance could cause permanent damage. She grew concerned as the list of potential calamities that could befall him increased in her mind. He could be looking at paralysis if he wan't careful.

It was beginning to brighten outside. The red and yellow hues of a sunrise lit up the entirety of the med bay.

"Bellamy!" She tried again, this time louder.

"Clarke!"

She heard her name coming from camp, only it wasn't Bellamy who had spoken it.

"Clarke, we need you, right now." It was Raven, now in front of her by the doors of the med bay.

"We found something," she said with excitement, swerving on her heel to lead Clarke back to her tent. When the girls entered the canvas room, they were faced by the usual suspects: the delinquents.

Monty, Harper, and Murphy all looked up at Clarke as she came in, moving out of her way when she charged past them towards Bellamy, on Raven's bed. He was sitting, pretty uncomfortably, bandages loosening. Miller made the smart move to quickly get out of the picture, away from Clarke's wrath.

"Bellamy," she started, looking him in the eye, "What on earth were you thinking?"

The older Blake sibling only smirked and scoffed, but avoided her gaze.

"We've found the reason why Trishanakru broke the Coalition," Monty interrupted, hoping to lower Clarke's level of anger. It worked. She turned, facing Monty.

"Trishanakru and Floukru were both informed in a private meeting that Skaikru was hiding the existence of a second radiation shelter, similar to Mount Weather. They want to take it."

"But there's no such thing —"

"I know," Monty snapped, "But they think there is. Trishanakru spread the news. Now most of the clans are planning an attack — they just got to us first."

The room was quiet for a long time before anyone spoke. "So what do we do?"

It was Raven who had spoken, and the delinquents all turned to look at her.

"We can give the evidence to Kane," she suggested when no none spoke. "Have the security team plan a defence."

They all nodded solemnly, none of them saying what was on all their minds. Most of Arkadia's guns had burnt with Illian's fire, along with any grounder weapons that may have been stored there. They were absolutely no match for nine clans.

"Will Azgeda help? Floukru?" Clarke's voice was soft as she addressed Miller. He spent many days with his father's security counsel; he knew the ins and outs of dealing with the grounder clans.

"Azgeda, possibly," he replied, "But they're still recovering from the backlash of the Ascension. They won't want to be on our side of this war. As for Luna, she's already lost too many of her people to the radiation. And they're a peaceful clan. No go."

Clarke cursed, and tried to think of an alternative. "Bellamy," she turned to look at him, "What do you — oh my God, _Bellamy_!"

The group turned to Raven's bed as Clarke pushed through them, making her way back to the back of the room. Bellamy was on the floor, shaking —seizing. Clarke fell onto her knees beside him, grasping for his arm in an effort to turn him on his side. Murphy tossed one of Raven's pillow to Clarke, which she placed under Bellamy's head to stop it from hitting against the hard ground.

"Someone get Abby Griffin!" Jasper yelled out into the camp.

Minutes felt like hours, and in the few it took for Abby to arrive at Raven's tent, medical kit in hand, Bellamy had stopped. He lay soundlessly and still on the floor, his head in Clarke's hands.

"Baby, what happened?" It was Abby's voice, but Clarke didn't hear.

"Bellamy?" She whispered, "Can you hear me?"

His face was warming up in her hands, his long curls got in the way of his eyes. She pushed them back, feeling the warmth of his forehead.

"Clarke." This time she heard her mother's strict voice. "Tell me what happened."

Clarke looked up at her mother's face, "I don't know," she said, trying to hold back her tears. "I just saw him on the floor."

Abby had only ever seen her daughter in such a state once before; it was the day she had come back to camp, bleeding and bruised, and had asked if Finn and Bellamy had made it. Unable to keep her breath, shaking, close to crying. But she didn't have time to comfort her now. She kneeled beside Bellamy, checking for a pulse. It was weak.

Keeping him on his side, she lifted his eyelids. A flashlight darted in between each eye, checking for a response.

"He has a concussion — I don't know why we didn't catch this earlier." Abby turned to the crowd of teenagers waiting behind her. "Any of you see him fall?"

They all shook their heads, somber.

Abby cursed, "He might have hit his head again. We need to get him back to medical — right now." Then, she stopped. "Why is he here in the first place? Clarke?"

No one said anything.

"You kids," she mumbled under her breath. "Always up to something."

With the help of two nurses, Abby had Bellamy taken to her station. Clarke was still by Raven's bed, dazed and silent. Requested by her mother not to follow them, she had nowhere else left to go.

Her hands were cold with the loss of Bellamy's warmth. Monty knelt beside her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "Clarke," he said, slowly. "He'll be okay. you know what Bellamy's like. He'll pull through."

"There's just nothing I can do," she mumbled back.

"Of course there is," Murphy interrupted, "You can get back on your feet and start working on this 12 clan shit we're in."

* * *

 _"Clarke."_

No one answered him.

" _Octavia_."

Still, nothing.

He couldn't open his eyes, but he knew it was bright outside.

" _Abby_!" He called, pushing himself off the bed. Balancing on his elbows — because he felt too woozy to try any farther — he squinted for a look around the room. He was in Quarantine, hooked on IVs of fluids and blood.

" _ABBY_!" He tried one last time. This time, he caught someone's attention. A nurse looked up at him, exasperatedly gestured for him to get back into bed, and held up one finger to indicate that she'd be bringing back the doctor.

"Find me Clarke!" Bellamy called after her, but he wasn't sure she heard.

Abby arrived soon later, with Clarke nowhere to be seen. She remained behind the barrier, but turned on the intercom. "Bellamy; how are you feeling?"

"Why am I here?" He asked, straight to the point. "Where's Clarke?"

"Bellamy, we have reason to believe that the weapon you were hit with was poisoned. You'll remain under strict quarantine observation until we can confirm otherwise."

"Where's Clarke?" He repeated.

"Clarke's with the war council. Nine of the clans plan to move against Arkadia within the week. Now — hey, no — Bellamy, you need your rest. Get back into bed!"

Bellamy did no such thing. Allowing the IV stand to carry his weight, he was beginning to move towards the airlock.

"Bellamy — don't. You need to sit down. Do you understand the number your body has gone through? I'm only going to ask you this nicely, one more time." Bellamy still showed no signs of stopping. "Hey, _hey_! _You'll contaminate the entire ward!"_

It was the only thing that made him hesitate. With an exasperated sigh, he stopped walking.

"Get back into bed, young man."

He did, but not without his own complaints.

"How am I supposed to get anything done from the inside of this plastic cage?"

Abby's response was simple. "You don't."

* * *

Clarke came to visit him a few hours later, after he had skipped absentmindedly through a few medical books. They were the only ones Abby had left lying around, and the only source of dull engagement she could provide him with.

"Hey," she called from the other side of the intercom, and his head snapped towards her. She looked around his holding cell, overcome with white. He was stationed there in the middle of it all, with his black hair and tan skin and dark eyes, a sheer contrast of his atmosphere.

"How are you feeling?"

He nodded slowly, and said, "As good as can be expected, I guess. You okay?"

Clarke smiled and nodded. "Are you in any pain?" She asked.

"No."

She looked Bellamy in the eye for this first time. She saw the slight shiver of his arms, and the purple bruising all around his bandages. "Are you lying to me, Blake?"

He paused. "Yeah." He smiled softly at her. "How did you know?"

She returned the smile. "I know."

They were silent for a short while, because neither of them knew what else to say.

"Bell," Clarke then said, so quietly he almost didn't know if he actually heard it. He looked at her, meeting her gaze for only a moment before she looked away. Her face was pink, brightening with every passing moment. "I'm so sorry."

It took him a moment to realise that the soft hue of her skin indicated shame.

"Clarke, don't even go there." He tried to stand, supported mainly by the walls and the IV. He made his way up to her, though slowly, and stopped only when the only space in between them was the airlock's plastic sheet. She still wasn't looking at him, even though she saw his bare feet approach her.

"Hey. Look at me."

She looked.

"You couldn't have known that Trishanakru was going to attack. You didn't ask that grounder to attempt an assassination on you. You _also_ didn't choose for me to get stabbed in the back. This is not your fault, Princess."

She smiled at the long-forgotten pet name. "Thank you, Bell."

"You're welcome." He tried to look stronger than he was as he said it, as though standing itself wasn't too much pressure on his spine. But, once again, Clarke saw through his exterior shield.

"Bellamy, please, sit down. You look like you're going to fall."

He only nodded, understanding that it was no use trying to convince her of a lie. Anyone else, maybe. Not her.

He turned to head back to the quarantined bed, slowly.

"You know what they say, Blake." A sneering voice came from behind the both of them. They both turned, more effort extruded from Bellamy. "Slow and steady wins the race."

"Shut up, Murphy," Bellamy growled back, ignoring the snide comment and continuing on.

"Don't listen to him, Bellamy. It's not like he knows what its like to save someone else's life by taking a hit to the spine." Clarke turned to make a point a finger at Murphy, but he just looked past her.

"Are you sure he's alright?" he prodded, butting out his chin to indicate to the quarantine.

"Stop it, Murph—," Clarke was saying, when she was interrupted by a soft voice.

"Clarke, get your mother."

It was Bellamy.

But he never asked for help.

That scared her.

"Murphy, stay here."

And she ran.


	2. Therapy

Hey guys,

Thanks for all the input on the first chapter.

I did receive a question, and I believe the answer should be given to all.

 **I will not be incorporating any spoilers from episodes** after 4x05, "The Tinder Box". Even that was a one-time thing.

Also, it will be extremely evident soon that **I am not a medical professional.**

As always, **I don't own any of the characters, nor the photo**.

Please read and review, and most importantly, enjoy.

* * *

"Clarke, honey, stay outside. Keep the intercom on. Don't do anything stupid."

Abby was listing off instructions as she stepped into a hazmat suit. It was a steep precaution, and one that would take another 15 minutes to fulfil.

Every few seconds, Clarke's eyes darted from her mother's face to Bellamy's, which was beginning to pale. The worrisome looks did not go unnoticed.

"Baby, he'll be fine. Just as long as you let me do my job, he'll be fine."

"Mom, please, please, don't let anything happen to him."

Abby nodded, kissed her daughter on the head, and put her helmet on. She moved into the sterilisation unit near the quarantine, along with Jackson. He only gave Clarke a reassuring nod of the head.

They disappeared into the unit, and Clarke turned back to face Bellamy.

"They're coming, Bell. Just hold on."

Bellamy had settled to sitting on the edge of a nearby chair. He looked terrified. It was only a few minutes earlier when he had asked for Abby, when he claimed he was beginning to lose his sight.

Being Arkadia's most skilled marksman, no one could afford for that symptom to become permanent.

"Clarke, are you there?" She heard him say. She turned the intercom back on. "Yeah, I'm right here."

"It's all black now."

Her heart fell. "Just a few more minutes, Bellamy. Just hold on."

His voice was barely above a whisper. "Okay."

She looked at the sanitisation chamber, to her watch, to Bellamy. One more time to sanitisation. She wasn't going to wait anymore. Before anyone could stop her, she knocked the door, and released the latch.

A wave of cold hit her in the face. As quickly as she could, she closed and locked the door behind her. Consequences begone.

She ran to Bellamy, dropping to her knees to meet his eye level. One hand to his knee alerted him of her presence. He twitched away from her hand at first, but she managed to calm him with quiet words.

Pulling a pen torch from her pocket, she shined it in his eyes. They did not respond. "Can you see anything at all?"

"No."

"Okay, no, it's okay — don't move, okay?"

He nodded.

She darted towards the medical instrument tray beside the bed. Scrambling through it, with metal clanging against metal, she found what she was looking for. She brought the scalpel back to Bellamy, who, as she had instructed, hadn't moved a muscle.

"Are you absolutely joking, Griffin?"

It was Murphy, still situated outside the quarantine's walls. He watched Clarke approach Bellamy, pushing his head gently onto the back of the chair. When his nape was resting on the hard plastic, she whispered, "Okay, Bellamy, you just have to trust me."

"What's Murphy on about?"

"Forget Murphy. Do you trust me?"

"Yeah," he said, seeming confident in his answer.

"Good. Now don't move."

She sterilised the side of his temple with the bottle of moonshine available to her, and brought up a patch of gauze to his face with her non-dominant hand. "This is going to hurt a little," she warned.

"Clarke" he snapped. She gave him a disapproving look, forgetting for a moment that he didn't have the ability to see it. "Just do it."

She did. As she brought the scalpel gently onto temple, she began to split skin. Blood blossomed immediately, but the swelling near his eye was also reducing.

"Fuck," he swore under his breath.

"Alright, now don't try to open your eye just yet." Clarke pulled a needle through his skin, pulling the two edges of the wound together. She held a fresh piece of padding to his eye, layering it with gauze. She cut the medical tape with her teeth as she pressed it firmly against him. Once she was done with taping it, she moved on to the next eye. She repeated the procedure, he cursed again, and she patched him back up again.

She began clearing up the mess she made when she a loud tapping on the door.

" _Clarke_!"

It was her mother. She had just exited the chamber, and was mere inches away from the door. Clarke held up a hand to her mother, stopping the doctor from saying anything else as she entered quarantine. "You took too long, Mom. He couldn't see anything."

Abby entered the quarantine and joined her daughter on the floor. "This may just be an effect of your concussion, Bellamy. We have to keep an eye on it for a while, but the swelling should be gone in a few hours."

"Is it serious?" Bellamy asked.

"Oh, yes," Abby replied, helping him up. He leaned on her as she guided him to bed. "It's quite a worrisome symptom."

"Oh."

"The most we can do for you is keep you well-rested and stress-free." Abby said, but she knew how improbable it was to get Bellamy to commit to either trait. "Now, as for Clarke." She turned to her daughter.

"Mom, don't."

"Clarke, I don't think I have to tell you how absolutely irresponsible this was —"

"Yeah, Mom, I know. Just please, don't get into this right now —"

"I wasn't done." Abby snapped. "I don't have to tell you. You already know. And despite how dangerous this was, you made the right call. If you would have waited a few more minutes for me, I'm sure the swelling would have permanently damaged his eyes. You did a good job, Clarke."

Clarke nodded curtly. "Thank you."

"But now, you're not going to be released until we check you for the poison too. It's highly contagious. So, I'm going to put you in charge of everything remotely related to Bellamy's case, okay?"

From the outside, Murphy snorted. "I thought she already was."

"Shut up, Murphy," Clarke mumbled — before Bellamy even had to open his mouth. He showed a ghost of a smile as he heard her say it.

Abby just ignored them both, simply pulling the curtain around them to hide Bellamy's bed from the public eye. "Clarke. Do you think you can handle this with your limited training?"

Clarke nodded.

"Good girl. Now, I have to check up on my other patients. Jackson is going to let you know what you have to do." She turned her attention to her second-in-command, who nodded and turned to Clarke as Abby left. He had entered the quarantine alongside Abby, and was waiting by the side in case he was needed.

"Bellamy's lost a lot of blood, especially after the surgery," he started. "He's going to need a transfusion. I'm having volunteers donate some blood, but we're currently all out of O neg."

Clarke nodded along his words, taking notes. Jackson continued. "Bellamy's blood type is AB negative. Do you know anyone in particular who would be a match?"

Clarke turned to the bed behind her. "Bell; Octavia?"

He shook his head. Despite siblings being the closest possible match, Octavia and Bellamy had two different fathers. By chance, they also had two different Rh Indicators. "No, she's B positive."

"Well," Clarke started. "I know my blood type is A negative. That makes Bellamy and I compatible. We can start right away."

Jackson looked between the two. "I agree." When he said this, he turned around and flipped off the intercom system. "Do you know when you were last tested for any blood diseases?"

"On Mount Weather."

"What were the results?"

"All negative."

Jackson jotted this down. "I do have to ask you a few other questions, but first, I need to check your temperature." He pulled a thermometer from within the medical kit on his belt, and asked Clarke to put it under her tongue.

"When was the last time you had an infection?"

Clarke shrugged as the thermometer beeped. No fever. As soon as she handed it back to Jackson, she said, "I'm sure it was right after I came to Arkadia the first time. With Anya."

Jackson nodded. "Do you have anaemia? Have you ever had it?" At this Clarke shook her head.

"Any chance you're pregnant?"

"Jackson, no."

"Are you on any birth control?"

"Yes."

"Wh— really?" This was Bellamy. "We have birth control on the ground?"

"Shut up, Bellamy."

"Well!" Jackson said loudly. "Clarke, you're in the clear. Have a seat on the bed and we can get you started. Bellamy — try to get some rest."

Clarke did as he asked, finding a seat in the empty space beside Bellamy's legs. He shifted to the side to accommodate her, and both waited for Jackson to return with a catheter needle and a blood bag.

When he did return, he instructed Clarke to lay on her back, just for comfort's sake. She had to overlap herself on Bellamy, but eventually she found a comfortable position. When they were both settled, Jackson wrapped a tourniquet around her arm and told her to make a tight fist.

There was an awkward silence as he tried to find a vein.

Clarke and Bellamy were so firmly pressed together; she could feel herself move every time he took a breath.

"Okay, Clarke, take a deep breath in."

She did as he asked. He inserted the needle, and immediately the blood started pooling into the bag. He released the tourniquet, and it flew by faster.

"And, breathe out."

He let go of her arm, and the bag, to get up. "Relax, Clarke, and I'll be back in about ten minutes to let you loose."

Clarke nodded, aware of how the blood donation process went. On the Ark, she donated regularly, and whenever she couldn't, often volunteered in the blood drives. Jackson offered a bottle of water to her, which she took gratefully.

Jackson did not leave the four plastic walls, but he did turn around and speak into his talkie.

Clarke turned to Bellamy beside her. He was already asleep, his breathing slow as he rested. She tried to keep off his shoulder, but found that there was no where else to go. The long ten minutes were hard to ignore, with nothing to distract Clarke's mind from Bellamy's breathing. So she listened to him sleep beside her, softly and as the most peaceful then she'd ever witnessed him.

She worried, and she wasn't sure why. She was always pressuring him during their missions to take some rest, to eat, or not to take the first shift on watch. He never listened. To see him resting now made her feel at ease, like his injury was somewhat a blessing in disguise. Knowing her mother, Clarke knew that Bellamy would be forced into a lot of rest in his upcoming weeks of therapy. It was something she was glad of.

Jackson turned back to her when her ten minutes was up. The blood bag was almost full, and a little bit of colour had drained from Clarke's face. While she had been preoccupied with Bellamy's breathing, he had had a nurse bring in a small platter from the mess hall.

"Eat some of this, Clarke," he told her. "Get some of you energy back up. You'll need it."

He listed off instructions for Clarke as she ate slowly. She was to hook Bellamy up to her blood for a transfusion, which she had been taught to do early on in her training. The plan was to do it as quickly and silently as possible to keep Bellamy from waking up — which Clarke was sure would prove to be a hard task. She was well aware of how light a sleeper Bellamy was.

Jackson left the quarantine, and Clarke's eyes followed him through the plastic after he had stripped out of the hazmat. He nodded to her once, but then was gone.

Once she had set aside her dinner, Clarke turned to the sleeping boy in the bed beside her. With the bottle of moonshine in the corner, she soaked a cotton pad in order to sterilise the insertion site. Since his right arm was already occupied with the morphine, she had to bend over his body to reach his left one. She focused her weight on her hands — over Bellamy's side — to ensure that she didn't fall onto him, and wiped the pad over his elbow. It must have been the cold sensation that woke Bellamy up instantly. With his eyes masked by the gauze, he couldn't see her lingering above him, but she saw him stir into consciousness.

"Go back to sleep, Bell," Clarke whispered.

"Clarke." He wasn't calling her, only confirming that it was her. He seemed relieved that she was still with him. He had to fumble, but eventually he found the hand that had just been on his arm, and clutched it. The action ensured that she stopped working to insert the transfusion line, and that she was forced to concentrate only on how cold and tight his grip was. When he did not let go, she furrowed her brow.

"Bellamy? What's wrong?"

Instead of replying, he just remained silent. His grip on her hand loosened, and he let out a sigh. Shaking his head to indicate that _no, nothing was wrong_ , he turned away from her, allowing her to do her work.

With his back to her, Clarke no longer had to balance on her hands. Rather, she simply leaned against his hip until she found herself steady enough to insert the needle. He twitched at the prick, but otherwise did not move or utter a word. She hung up the blood bag on the same rod as the IV, hoping that Bellamy wouldn't move around too much during the night to dislodge anything. She pulled the blanket out from under Bellamy's feet and opened it up in the air to lay it over him.

He settled into his pillow, hoping that he would fall back into sleep soon. His spine was beginning to bother him, and there was a limit to how much morphine he was allowed. The discomfort was beginning to become overbearing, and he found that anything he did — including speaking — caused him pain. Even as he had turned to his side, he had regretted it. He did not intend to make another move after it. Somehow, the only thing that seemed to alleviate his pain was direct pressure, provided to him by the weight of Clarke's thighs on his back. The pain returned as she turned around to leave.

Clarke turned to the bookshelf behind her, hoping that there would be enough in it to get her through the night. Quarantine at Arkadia was pretty regular, and often the patients' visits would not be short. In an effort to ease their minds, Monty had suggested the insertion of a reading corner. True to his beliefs, the patients were no longer edgy and aggressively impatient during their stay in quarantine. Rather, they focused their time on the books, paints, and articles provided.

Clarke opened up the chest of drawers beneath the shelf, finding herself a pad of paper and a combination of charcoal and coloured pencils. She settled into the singular chair by the bed, knowing that there wasn't enough space on it for the both of them to fit comfortably. It was getting darker outside, so she lit the candle on the bedside table. As the flame danced, shadows were thrown all around the room, catching in the crevasses of the walls. She looked to Bellamy as he lay there in bed, peaceful. She was unsure if he had fallen asleep, but not moving to check. The shadows floated around him, contouring his body before her.

Inspired, she put pencil to paper and began to make art.

* * *

"Jackson," Abby called as she waved him over. As he reached her side she had him look into the microscope she was using. "Do you see it?"

Jackson arched over her shoulder, peering into the lenses. Abby looked up at him expectedly, eager to know his thoughts. He stiffened as he saw it, and slowly turned to face his mentor. Nodding slowly, he wondered aloud, "This — it's Bellamy's blood?"

Abby nodded. "We should probably let him know."

Just as the two were beginning to get up, Miller entered the room, breathless. He carried his gun in his hands, rather than slinging it on his shoulder as etiquette instructed. "Doctor Griffin," he said. "It's Trishanakru - You have to follow me."

Raven met the two doctors a few feet away from the camp's walls. With her was Kane, Monty, and Jaha. In her hands she held a device, depicting exactly where the Trishanakru army was advancing.

"The war council was cut short when the army signalled their arrival a few minutes ago." Kane informed them. He then indicated to the ground, and when Abby looked down, she gasped and took a step back. Bryan was on the floor, attending to a bleeding Jasper. In the dark, Abby hadn't even noticed them.

"He was hit by an arrow." He continued. "As a clear act of war."

Jackson broke eye contact with Raven to turn to Jasper. "Alright. Let's get him to med bay."

* * *

When Bellamy woke up again, it was because of the crippling pain. He gasped as the pain got stronger, temporarily paralysed by the sensation. It was concentrated to the bottom of his back, just under where he was stabbed.

"Hey — hey!"

He heard Clarke toss something to the ground as she came to him, clearly worried. She put a warm hand to his neck, checking for his pulse. It was racing. Turning to face the IV stand, she saw the empty sack of morphine.

" _Fuck, Bellamy_ , you should have said something!" she yelled at him as she ran towards the plastic walls of quarantine. She spoke into the intercom as she urgently requested more morphine. The medication came within minutes, transferred quickly between the exchange dock.

Clarke moved quickly to swap the two bags and increase the flow of the drug. "Give it a minute," she whispered, more to herself than to Bellamy. "Just give it a minute to work."

She watched Bellamy as he very slowly eased up and took his first real breath. He raised a hand to his forehead, breathing heavily.

Clarke only gave him a moment to recover before she faced him, close to fuming. "I know you knew this thing was running out," she started. "Fucking hell, Bellamy, what the fuck is wrong with you? Why didn't you say anything?" She realised that her voice was rising with every word he let her get in.

"I don't know, Clarke," he whispered. "I guess there's always someone who needs it more."

For a second or two, Clarke was speechless. If he wasn't already so hurt, she would have been tempted to throw something at him. A desk, maybe.

She came over to the bed and placed a hand on his chest. It was surprisingly gentle, considering how angry she was at him. "Bellamy, I need you to recover. For heaven's sake, you should barely be able to move — I really don't know how you are. But please, _please_ , you need to start putting yourself first. You're in a lot of pain, anyone can see that. Consider yourself the most needy tonight. Do you hear me?"

For a second he didn't answer, and she wondered if he had fallen asleep. She tapped him lightly, "Ey."

"No one's ever put me first. I'm just not used to it."

Clarke's anger quickly melted away, and she tightened her grip on Bellamy's shirt. "Well get used to it."

He responded with a flash of a smile and a hand to meet hers. "Yes. Okay. Fine."

"Thank you. Now, are you going to go back to sleep, or should I get something for you to eat?"

"Come to think of it, I'm starving."

* * *

A few days later, Clarke and Bellamy were still stuck in quarantine, only feeling more useless than ever. The war on Trishanakru and friends had begun, and the med bay had never seen a larger number of people before. From behind the thick transparent walls, there was nothing either of them could do to help anyone.

With Abby's permission, Clarke was beginning to remove the gauze from around Bellamy's eyes, in order to start allowing him to regain his sight.

Clarke pulled the curtain through the rod, shielding the bed from the commotion of outside. She also turned off the lights of the quarantine, knowing how harsh the light may seem to Bellamy after days of blindness. She then pulled on her gloves and turned to him.

"Ready?" she called.

"More than you can know," he mumbled back.

Clarke gently laid the pads of her fingers on his forehead, not expecting the flinch that came with the movement.

"Try to stay still," she told him softly.

"I am," he grumbled, "but your hands are so cold."

He heard her scoff, and then felt the retraction of her fingers from his skin. He was about to ask her what she was doing when he heard the sounds of her rubbing her hands together and blowing into them.

"Clarke. I've been stabbed in the leg. I've been shot at. I've lived through explosions. Surely I can handle your cold hands."

"Yeah?" she chuckled. "Well apparently not — Hold on, they're still cold." Saying this, she stopped blowing into her hands, instead shoving them into her bra, knowing it would heat them up faster.

With the hand cupped to her left breast, Clarke could feel her heart race as she watched Bellamy. She saw him give a small smile as he waited. He was unaware of her doings, but slightly amused that she was taking the time to warm her hands for his sake. She willed her heartbeat to slow to normal pace.

"Here we are," she chirped as she pulled her hands out from under her shirt. "Now, stay still." His smile turned into a smirk as she gave him the demand.

"Yes, ma'am," Bellamy replied.

As Clarke began peeling away the gauze, she checked up on the healing of the cut. The stitches had held together nicely, and she found that it was time to remove them. With a pair of medical tweezers, she neatly cut away each bit of thread until there were none left. As soon as her hands were removed from his face, he took a peek. She had already begun repeating the process on the next eye, and took no notice.

The first thing Bellamy could see through out-of-practice sight was the halo that formed around Clarke's head, with the candle brightening up her golden hair. He didn't say a word as he watched her concentrate on her work. As soon as his second eye was bare again, he focused his vision on watching her.

She cleaned up the mess she made, and as she made eye contact for the first time, she smiled at him. His stomach jumped.

"What can you see?" She asked as she turned away, moving the mess into a nearby garbage. His eyes flickered over her body as he watched her disappear behind the curtain.

"You."

She chuckled, and a moment later returned with a pen torch and a dropper filled with saline. She made him hold the dropper as she flashed the light in his eyes. "Okay, so the reactions are pretty good. Is anything blurry? The edges of your vision, maybe?"

Bellamy shook his head. "Clear as day."

"Perfect. Now, just use those droplets to soothe your eyes. They're red." She indicated to the little plastic capsule in between his fingers. "Two drops each eye, three if you think you need it."

"How — what —?" Bellamy lifted the dropper, confused. "How the fuck do I put this into my eye?"

"You're joking, right?" Clarke muttered, scanning his face for any sign that he was messing with her, but she couldn't find any. Squinting but looking her straight in the eye, Bellamy prompted, "You _do_ know that we didn't have enough credits to actually see doctors on the Ark, right Clarke?"

"Right," she said, turning pink. "My bad. Alright, give it here." She held out her hand, and he dropped it into the centre of her palm. "Lay down." She pointed to the bed.

When he did, she came up to him and sat on the mattress beside him, "Open your eyes. Don't move." She hovered over him and waited for him to follow her instructions. She let the first drop fall, just as he closed his eye reflexively.

Straightening, Clarke huffed. "What did I _just_ say."

"I think it went in."

"No it didn't. Open your eye."

He did.

"Don't fucking blink," she warned.

He blinked.

"Bell, don't make me strap you down to the bed. I'll fucking do it." Oh, the thought.

"I can't help it!" He exclaimed.

"Right." She climbed onto the bed fully, placing one knee on either side of his waist. With each elbow balanced on either side of his head on the pillow, she fully straddled him. He could hear her breathing, she was so close.

God, she was so unaware of what she was doing to him.

"Okay, don't move." With one finger lifting his eyelid, she squeezed the bottle and two fat drops of saline fell into his eye.

"Fuck," he mumbled, and she chuckled. " _That_ went in."

"Okay, now the other eye."

"Dammit, Clarke, give me a minute," he said, but was smiling as he heard her laugh. She sat back as she waited for his signal. When she did, he felt her ankles dig into the side of his leg. She was trying to avoid sitting on his pelvis.

"Okay, go," he whispered. She once again opened his eye and dropped the liquid into it. As he rubbed away at it, he watched her begin to get up. Before she could, he reached out to her thigh. She turned back to him, a questioning look on her face. Then, he raised a hand to touch her cheek, and gently pulled her down. He didn't know what he was doing until he had laid that tentative first kiss on her lips.

Clarke knew he wasn't sure about the move when he began to part from her. She wasn't going to let him go so easily. She tossed the dropper onto a nearby table and let both hands go to his neck. She kept his lips steady on hers, and she deepened their kiss.


	3. Recovery

They were both clearly taking advantage of the privacy brought to them by the curtain. Bellamy's hands roamed Clarke's hair freely as he felt her lips part for him. He pulled her closer until she had no choice but to fully fall onto him. Just as she did, however, he turned them so that she was pressed onto the bed instead of him. She felt him smirk as he did it, and let him have his turn.

His hands roamed her body, shamelessly. She didn't object, even as he lifted her and made the decision to pull her jacket off her. He tossed the article to the ground. Clarke noticed him becoming more adventurous with time, but she also noticed his breathlessness. When he didn't stop in spite of it, she pulled away to press her lips into his neck.

"Clarke— "

"Hush," she told him as she continued, moving upward on his neck until she was just placing butterfly kisses on his cheeks and forehead. She flipped them over again, and they were soon tangled in the sheets of the bed.

As she did it she felt Bellamy relax into the mattress, bringing her down with him. His hands were stationed on her hip and her shoulder, allowing her to do as she pleased with him while he regained his breath. His breathlessness didn't cease, however, because what Clarke was doing to him was simply taking his breath away. Her lips felt amazing on his skin; her hands on his body made his heart jump.

But as soon as she allowed him a gateway to reciprocate, he had her face in his hands, and her lips crashed back onto his. He felt her smile as he kissed her, a feeling he wouldn't trade for the world.

Neither Bellamy nor Clarke were aware of how much time passed as they went at it, but they weren't planning on stopping. That is, until they heard Abby Griffin knock on the door.

"Clarke?" They heard her mother's voice call through the intercom. The sound immediately killed the mood, and the two parted. They stilled for a moment, looking each other in the eye as they tried to comprehend the interruption.

"Go," he whispered to her. "She might get worried."

Clarke nodded, pulling away from him slowly. She straightened her clothes as she came out to face the rest of the quarantine, turning on the lights as she approached the wall.

"Mom," she addressed Abby through the intercom.

Abby looked her daughter up and down with a skeptical eye. "What were you doing?"

Clarke cleared her throat slowly. "Uh, physiotherapy."

"Why were the lights off?" Her mother pressed.

"Oh, uh, I took of his bandages some time ago. It was just so he could adjust to the light."

"Huh." Abby was still doubtful, but moved on to the reason behind her visit. "I have news on the poison. I'm coming in to talk to Bellamy." Then, lowering her voice, she muttered to her daughter: "Get him decent."

Clarke's face immediately reddened as her mother walked away.

When she peeked at Bellamy through the curtain, he was smirking at her mother's words while trying — and failing — to pat his hair down. Clarke had done a pretty good job at mussing it up. She helped, as she tried to avoid laughing, by gently combing through the mess with her fingers and straightening up his appearance. Surprisingly, Bellamy allowed her to continue until she deemed him 'decent' enough.

She also straightened the bed and pulled back the curtain surrounding it by the time her mother had entered the quarantine, hazmat and all. Abby eyed the two and cleared her throat as she entered, informing them of her entry.

"Bellamy," she acknowledged the patient with a nod. "How are you feeling?"

Clarke had taken position beside the headboard, so Bellamy didn't see her unstoppable smirk as he was asked the question. Her mother, however, could.

"A lot better, thanks to Clarke. She's been taking actual care of me."

Abby struggled not to make a sarcastic remark on that front. "That's good to hear. Is… Is that a new bruise? Do you know how you got it?" With her pen, she indicated to the general area of his face.

"What?" Alarmed, Clarke came over to look at what her mother was pointing to. Bellamy himself was unsure of what she was trying to ask him. "Where?"

Clarke turned red, unsure how she missed the growing red mark on Bellamy's neck. More so, how she didn't cover it up for her mother.

Bellamy, severely amused at Clarke's face, lied easily. "No, that's an old bruise. It should be fading any time now. It's from when that grounder punched me."

"Ah. Well, anyways, Bellamy, I'm here because I have relatively good news."

Bellamy scoffed. "Well, that would be a first."

Abby nodded along, "Yes, it would. Jackson and I have determined that you have, in fact, been poisoned. However, because of its chemical makeup, and its similarity to the poison used on Murphy before we came to the ground, you seem to be immune to it. It currently has no real toll on you. You're only a carrier at this point. That's the relative good part."

Bellamy didn't say anything, only nodding and allowing her to continue.

"Well, the bad news is that we still can't allow you out of quarantine just yet. Because only the 100 were exposed to the original poison, we can deduce that only the 100 are immune, as you are. The remaining thousands of us the descended with the Ark, save a few, are not. As a carrier, you have the ability to contaminate them. You'll have to remain here until we can determine that your blood is completely free of the poison."

Everyone was silent for a while.

"I can answer any questions you may have," Abby tried.

"How long will that take?" Bellamy's voice was quiet, like he didn't know how to handle the news. Both him and Clarke were quickly sobered. Abby didn't have to specify, but they both knew that Clarke was stuck in there with him.

"We don't know, honestly." Abby replied. "But we will be taking samples every few days until you're completely clean."

"Okay. Thank you." He didn't know why he was thanking her, but he did it all the same. It seemed to perfectly relay to Abby that he wanted her to leave. She acknowledged this request with a curt nod to both him and her daughter. "Take care, both of you." She didn't say anything else before she left.

Clarke moved to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching out to place her hand on his. It was a futile effort to comfort him, because clearly he was out of the range of comfort. Her voice was soft as she asked him to tell her what he was thinking.

"I just hate this fucking cage," he whispered to her, because he knew she would understand. He didn't look at her, only playing with her fingers as he tried to forget about the problem as a whole.

"Bellamy?" she whispered, and it caught his attention.

"Yeah, Clarke?"

"Can I kiss you?"

He smiled, which surprised her. It wasn't the reaction she thought she'd get as she said it, but she was glad. If there was anything she could do to get his mind off the problem at hand, she was going to do it.

"You never have to ask," Bellamy said, and his eyes softened as he edged closer to her.

So she didn't.

* * *

A few hours later, Clarke was pulling herself away from Bellamy's arms to put her clothes back on. Despite his numerous injuries, the man was still stellar in bed.

"Where you off to?" He asked as he sat back, watching her.

She gave him a soft laugh, because _really,_ where _could_ she go? "That corner right there," she said, and pointed to the cabinet of books. "You need your rest. Tomorrow we're starting your _actual_ physiotherapy, remember?"

She turned her back to him as she pulled her shirt over her head, and pulled her hair out from under it. He snaked his arms from behind her back and playfully pulled her against him, halting her redressing process. She turned to scold him, but before any words came out he had his lips on hers.

"How did I survive so long without you?" He whispered against her ear.

"With Bree," she said cheekily, and she pulled away from him. "Get some sleep, Bellamy, I'm serious. If you need me, I'll be in the study."

"Hey, now," he called as she disappeared behind the curtain. He saw her head peek back in as he was beginning to sit up. "You've been sleeping on that chair for days. Take the bed tonight."

"Bellamy, no."

"Clarke, yes. I've been confined to this mattress all this time. I can do with some time off it."

"You need to sleep with your back straight."

"Well, so do you. Help me up." He saw the reluctant look so on her face. "If you don't, I'll get up myself and probably sprain something." It was the only thing he could have said to make her mind up.

" _Fine_ , you fiend." She stepped back into the curtain's jurisdictions, bending over to pick up Bellamy's pants. "Put these on," she said as she tossed it to him. It hit him in the face, and he chuckled. He did as she told him, and watched her begin to throw back the covers to expose his legs to the cold air.

"Swing your legs over," she suggested. It took him a moment to do so, and then he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He reached out to grab her hand, and used it to pull her to him. His hands were wrapped against the back of her thighs as he lay his head over her stomach, revelling how easy it was to love Clarke Griffin.

Her hands dug themselves into his hair as she felt him take in a deep breath against her skin, like he was trying to remember the smell of it forever. He lifted his head to meet her gaze, and they exchanged an understanding smile.

"You need to put a shirt on," she whispered to him, and she knowingly killed the moment.

"Fair idea," he replied, and bent over to search the floor for the discarded article. When he found it he put it on, ready to stand. Clarke allowed for him to hold her by the forearms, and she hoisted him to his feet. With the IV on one side and Clarke on the other, Bellamy was able to find his balance.

The two slowly made their way to the chair of the study, and Clarke gently laid Bellamy down.

"You good?" she asked, and he nodded. "Go to sleep, Princess, you look like you need it."

She was going to take his word for it.

"Goodnight, Bellamy," she leaned in closer to him, pecking him on the temple with a soft kiss. He pulled her closer and left a gentler kiss on her lips. "Goodnight."

He watches her retreat back inside the curtain, hears her flop on the bed with an exhausted sigh. Within minutes, she's still, and all he can hear is her soft breathing.

He turns to the bookshelf behind him, because he realises he's not tired. He reached out to pull down a book, ' _The Guns of August'._

Curious, he turns to the first page. As soon as he does, however, a folded, flitting sheet of paper falls to the ground. He has to stretch, and it isn't comfortable, but he manages to get it in his hands. Setting the book down, he unfolds the paper.

Accumulated charcoal dust falls to his lap, and the sketched lines are blurred together. But he recognises her swift strokes, her artistic eye.

It's him. Eyes closed, candlelight dancing across his face. His broken body covered in sheets.

There's no colour on the page, but he sees what she's done with what she had. In his mind's eye, he can see the dim orange light of the candle, the dark blue of his shirt, the soft beige of the sheets.

It was the most beautiful piece of art he'd ever seen. He certainly hopes she wasn't planning on throwing it away. He refolds it and tucks it into his pants pocket.

* * *

Clarke woke with a jolt.

It was dark, cold, silent. She heard only him.

She broke the atmosphere by flinging the covers off of herself and flipping the lights on, "Bellamy?"

The screech of the curtain being pulled back didn't wake him up. He lay in his chair, head on his own shoulder, asleep, shivering, whimpering. Crying. She ran to his side, falling to her knees, placing a cold hand on his arm.

She shook him, she held his face, she kissed him, just trying to wake him up. "Hey," she whispered, "It's okay."

It was her voice that did it.

"Clarke." His hand flew to her face, bringing her closer until he had her face on his chest. He held her to him until his breathing calmed, and he wasn't so shaken anymore. She held his arms, listened to his heartbeat slow.

"You okay?" she asked when it wasn't thrumming so hard against his chest.

"I'm fine." His voice was curt, like he wanted to talk about anything but.

"It was a nightmare, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"What about?"

He was silent for a long time. Clarke was sure he wasn't going to answer her, nor did he want to. She decided not to push him on the topic. She didn't like talking about her nightmares either. It just made her live through them again unnecessarily. So when he said the words, "It was about you," she had to turn around to face him, confusion evident on her face.

"You don't have to tell me."

"I know… Come here."

He shifted to the side so that she could share the chair with him, back to chest. He gripped her hands tightly and brought them to his lips to kiss them gently.

"Somewhere in the near future, as soon as everything has a stopped turning to shit, Clarke… I want a family. Kids. A wife. And I just saw that being taken away from me. Brutally. Like what I did to everyone on Mount Weather."

"What _we_ did. Bellamy, you don't have to carry this alone."

"Don't I deserve to?"

Clarke's head shot up to give him a scowl. "No. You don't." Then, she settled back onto him and let herself calm. "I wish you could see yourself like I see you."

"And that is?"

She turned to look at him again. She took his hands, which had been on her waist, and kissed them. "Beautiful. Loving. Gentle. Cunning. Protective." With every word she said, she punctuated it with a soft kiss, trailing up his body until she found his lips. "Abrasive. Selfless. Deserving. Strong. Rebellious." Against his lips, she whispered, "My everything."

The kiss that followed was unlike their previous ones. It was kind and gentle, rather than harsh and desperate. There was a softness in it, one that was rare to find on the ground.

When they fell silent moments later, it was comfortable.

Clarke caught Bellamy struggling to submit to sleep, afraid of what he might see behind closed eyes.

"Bellamy?"

He hummed.

"How many kids do you want? Y'know… when everything has stopped turning to shit?"

He doesn't hesitate. He doesn't have to think about it. He's known the answer for a long time, has thought about it before. "Seven."

Clarke snorted out a laugh. It's a glorious sound. "Seven?" He felt her shake with laughter against his chest.

"A nice lot to show the Ark rule who's really in charge," he chuckled alongside her, relishing the idea.

"Okay, fair. And girls, or boys?"

"The first one has to be a boy."

"I think the same, but why?"

"I've raised a girl. I want to try my hand somewhere else — what about you?"

Clarke had to think. "Not that many. Four, maximum. First one boy, because I want my daughters to have an amazing older brother, like Octavia did."

"You need to stop saying amazing things."

* * *

When they woke up for Bellamy's therapy, they were both yawning. Every instruction Clarke gave him was partially, sometimes wholly, concealed within a yawn. Bellamy tried not to make too much fun of her, especially when he started exhibiting the same symptoms of exhaustion.

They started the painful psychotherapy session with short warmups and stretches.

"PULL, DAMMIT."

This was Clarke. Physiotherapy was not her forte.

"I AM."

This was Bellamy. In a lot of pain.

It was hard to imagine that the two had bonded in any way the night before.

"WELL I DON'T FEEL IT."

Clarke was standing over Bellamy, who had taken up residence on the floor. His back was against the foot of the bed, and his hands were stationed on Clarke's forearms. She was leaning heavily away from him, the consequences of him not pulling on her arms hard enough.

They gave up with that soon after. His legs were more important anyways.

Clarke let him adjust to the cold floor before she started anything. If Arkadia had had anything to even slightly resemble a yoga mat, they would have used it. Instead, both Bellamy and Clarke were forced to keep to the concrete floor.

"Hands behind your head," she ordered. They had recently just stopped fighting. "Bend your knee— that's it. Now I'm going to try and lift it. It's going to hurt, okay?"

"What part of this entire day did you think didn't hurt?"

"Whatever."

Clarke pushed Bellamy's bent leg back towards him, trying to get the muscle to move in ways it hadn't over his week in quarantine. She put most of her weight into the job, with his knee pressed against her shoulder for optimum comfort. Just as it was beginning to strain, pulled back. With two fingers, she pressed and massaged his pressure points, until it no longer hurt. She repeated the process until she felt like the muscles had loosened back up.

"Next leg," she said, and he obeyed. He knew she was mad, and only smirked as she looked at him. She tried hard, but she couldn't resist the crack that formed in her angry armour. She hid her smile behind his leg. When she pushed his leg back, he caught a glimpse of it. The second time she pushed in, he pulled forward until his face was mere centimetres away from hers. She avoided his gaze.

"Hey."

"No."

"Clarke."

"Lay back!"

"Babe."

She only faltered for a second. "No."

He planted a gentle kiss on her temple. "Okay," and he lay back down, letting her finish her job. When she did, she held out an arm to help him up. It was beginning to darken outside.

By the end of the day, Bellamy was beginning to regain the ability to walk without support. He tried to do it as quickly as possible as he made his way back to the bed. As he did, however, there was a loud rapping sound at the door. Raven walked in with no further warning, holding out a canvas tote.

"Hey guys!" She said cheerily. "Glad to see you haven't killed each other yet."

Clarke had turned the intercom off the night before, but it was probably still pretty evident to the viewers outside how much the two had been yelling that morning.

"Abby sent me to give you guys some food, water, the likes. It's all in the bag." Clarke reached out to take the bag, grateful. As she did, however, Raven leaned in and whispered with tease, "Some condoms in here as well."

Behind Clarke, Bellamy could be heard spitting up his water.

Clarke turned red as she coughed her way through her embarrassment. "Thank you, Raven."

By the end of the day, they had already used two of them.

* * *

The raging war outside was hard to ignore.

It had already been a week of fighting, a solution yet unreached. The two tried to keep each other occupied, in a failed attempt to divert their minds to their shared uselessness.

The gunshots were rivalled with war cries. From inside their hated bubble, both Bellamy and Clarke were trying to make the best of their situation.

Bellamy was able to stand, and with Kane's permission, was giving orders to anyone who volunteered to fight. Impromptu gun lessons were given.

Clarke was always trying to help civilians treat one another. The shortage of medical staff demanded it. Many fighters were brought back from the front lines with raging fevers, wounds of the sword, and tear-gassed eyes.

With no one else around, they also had to comfort each other when an untrained nurse couldn't save lives, or when the young kids Bellamy trained came back with fatal injuries.

Sometimes, everybody was so consumed with their own duties, they couldn't see what else was happening in front of them. Even when those circumstances included an activated bomb. Even when it landed too close to quarantine.

* * *

There was smoke, and the smell of burnt skin. A ringing in his head. A raging question:

 _Clarke_?

He turned, and there she was. On her side, unconscious.

Rubble. Pain. Blood.

He crawled over to her. Put two fingers on her neck. No pulse.

"Clarke."

He shook her.

"Clarke!"

The beginning of a stand. He couldn't.

Black.


	4. Memory

It was the screaming and wailing that woke her up.

She turned to her side, where Bellamy lay completely still beside her. Too weighed down to move, she tried to kick him in the shin.

"Bellamy."

He woke up, looking at her through bloodshot eyes. "Huh?" he mumbled, like he didn't know what was going on. His hair covered his eyes, and he looked up at her, groggy.

"Go check," she requested. He got up with a groan to do so, and she tried to close her eyes again. The pounding of her headache seemed to be more stubborn than she was.

There was a dull and constant pain in Clarke's shoulder. The bomb had hit her hard, and her muscles were just getting used to regular movement.

After the explosion, Abby had soon found the two, both bloodied and one dead. The doctor had tried to resuscitate her daughter for twenty minutes before Clarke actually began breathing again.

Bellamy, who had been watching with fear from the corner, had let himself take a breath of relief. He had on a shock blanket, and Octavia had stood beside him, holding him against her like she wasn't willing to ever let him go again. The shock of the explosion had ripped her away from her post, dashing to ensure her brother's safety. She had been pretty sure he had been killed.

Clarke's hair had been singed off— she ran her hands through her short curls absentmindedly.

She looked over to Bellamy, who seemed to be negotiating with someone on the far end of the room.

They were in the Chancellor's quarters, under strict commands from Kane to take "a fucking break already".

"What is it?" Clarke called. "Is something wrong?"

Bellamy turned back to her, returning with a screaming Caspian, cradled against his chest. "He's hungry, Clarke."

He climbed back into bed beside his wife, waiting for her to stop sighing and open her shirt. Once done, he leaned over to her, handing her their baby so she could nurse him.

It was six years after the incident. Everything had stopped turning to shit. The evidence lay in Clarke's arms.

Clarke looked over to Bellamy with droopy eyes. He was smiling at her fiercely. "What?" she asked, and his smile was contagious.

"Nothing," he replied. "I just think you're so incredibly beautiful."

Clarke scoffed quietly, wary of disturbing their child. "Yes, with my slept-in clothes and a shirt covered in baby spit."

Bellamy smirked and leaned over, pressing a prolonged kiss on her temple. "I'm serious, babe. You're the most gorgeous person I've ever laid my eyes on."

The words made Clarke smile brightly. She returned the kiss, and then said, "What about Caspian?"

The new parents looked down at their three month-old son. He had tan skin, darker than Clarke's, but slightly lighter than Bellamy's. His eyes were a piercing blue, taking on after his mother. Everything else about him completely resembled his father. Dark hair, Filipino features, and a body of freckles.

"You've got nothing on him, Princess."

Clarke playfully shoved against his shoulder with hers. Her laugh echoed through the tent, but she immediately silenced herself as she realized that Caspian was beginning to drift off. He shifted in Clarke's arms, but then she felt his body grow still, submitting to slumber.

As she watched her son's face, she began to remember how she had gotten to such a blissful stage in her life.

Kane had been in the process of carrying out the new plan to build homes on the ground. She and Bellamy had established their relationship soon after their release from the medical bay, but had kept their union a secret from the rest of the camp.

Needless to say, both were quite useless when it came to hiding things from those closest to them. The couple had been visiting each other in their tents for years, both partially moved into the other's. Each tent had elements of both Clarke and Bellamy, and anyone who entered either tent didn't find it hard to comprehend the situation.

Raven and Abby had known before the final fight, but soon, Kane, Octavia, and Murphy too began to realise the depth of their relationship. They all respected their boundaries, but Raven and Octavia always seemed to find a way to discreetly tease the two. They were cheeky about it, and both Bellamy and Clarke only allowed it because they saw how much joy it brought them. After all, joy was hard to find on the ground.

Octavia, and she would never admit to it, was relieved when she found out. She hadn't known Bellamy to ever have a real relationship, not for as long as she could remember. He had had flings in the past, more so once they landed on the ground, but never a real one. She had seen Gina, had accepted her, and was beginning to like her — but the cruelty of the ground had taken even her from Bellamy.

The relationship Bellamy shared with Clarke was completely different from anything else he had ever experienced.

It was a mutual give-and-take, with respect, honesty, and above all, an unbreakable bond. They fought, and often, but it usually only brought each other closer by the end of it. Neither of them would never forget one fight in particular: the darkest hour of their entire relationship.

It had been a cold and windy night on the ground; but the two of them had been keeping warm by the fire. It had been the last day of the war council, where all the clan leaders had come to Polis to discuss their final peace treaty. The agreement had been signed by the kneaders. From Arkadia, those leaders included Kane and Clarke.

Many of the clans had had their own problems with the contract. It was a restricting document, and many weren't willing to share the land between thirteen groups, instead of twelve. Bellamy himself had been pretty unhappy with the terms. He had decided not to say anything about it — as he had made his thoughts on the agreement clear before Clarke had signed it — until she brought the subject back up. they had been in each other's arms by the fireplace of their personal quarters, and she had asked him if she had made the right decision.

He clearly didn't think so, but he hadn't wanted to repeat his opinions when he knew she was already aware of them. He had remained quiet until she had prodded. He had sighed, giving in, and told her that he didn't agree with her decision. Clarke mentioned later that the fight would have never had the chance to happen if he had just left it at that.

But he hadn't.

He''d voiced how he would have preferred Clarke not to have signed the papers, and 'basically grant the grounders their freedom'. She had whipped around to face him, to give him a threatening glare, before storming out of the room.

He'd come to apologize later, when he found her in the early hours of the morning in the healer's hall. But by then, she had been looking to fight, to scream, and yell. So he allowed her to, and it became a full-fledged fight. she made jabs at his xenophobic behaviour, and pointed out that they were now grounders too. He pointed out that she was always too logical about her decisions, and usually paid no heed for what was actually right for their people.

The both said things they didn't mean.

Coming out of it, Bellamy had a broken heart and a large bleeding gash on his arm. Clarke, in her haste to get him out of her sight, had thrown a vase at him. She had been crying as she yelled at him, unable to see how he didn't understand her decisions. Clarke had come out of it with bruised arms from where Bellamy had grabbed her in an effort to stop her from storming away or throwing more things at him. Over that, a crushed soul.

They hadn't spoken after that for weeks, and everybody noticed. They only made up after Clarke's hunting group was lost for four days. Bellamy's group was due to arrive after hers had, so when he had landed back in Arkadia without a view of her angry face, he grew worried. When she had finally come back, he had allowed all his anger to fall apart to hold her in his arms. She didn't resist, and they didn't talk about it again; they knew they wouldn't climb out of that hole again.

That fight had been pretty hard to forget. None of their other fights had even come close to that one. But because they fought so much, they loved just as much — more, even. Of that, Octavia had always been glad of.

Things were always so much easier on the ground. There could be no complications when people were constantly aware of the greater picture.

As Bellamy carried his sleeping son back to his cot, he was once again reminded on the greater picture. He placed a light kiss on Caspian's forehead before lowering him onto the caged bed. Bellamy's heart softened as the baby yawned and shifted for a moment in the confines of his blanket, before settling back into sleep.

He treaded back to Clarke, who had already fallen back to sleep. She was spread across the entire bed, clutching the duvet to her chest. Bellamy chuckled as he had to push her back onto her side, and he took his place beside her. She didn't let the blankets go, even as he pulled. With an amused huff he got back up and pulled out the large blanket a villager had knitted for Caspian when he was yet to be born. It was made of a thick wool, so they never actually used it for their child — but it would do just fine for Bellamy. He settled back into bed and gave Clarke a quick peck on the head before turning over and falling into sleep.

* * *

The memories of the harder days were still buried in the minds of everyone in Arkadia. Bellamy and Clarke were no different. Even as peace talks were conducted, and the radiation days were through, it was hard to forget.

Before they had Caspian, and very soon after they had established their relationship with one another, both Bellamy and Clarke found themselves seeking each other's comforts through the nights. Nightmares were hard to beat, even when sleeping beside one another. The guilt was worse, often lingering even past the point of sleep. They both knew that some of their actions in war were inexcusable, and the effects that knowledge had on their souls were tremendous.

As Bellamy had once put it, neither thought that they were worth surviving, let alone worth starting a family with — until it had happened.

Neither Clarke nor Bellamy would ever forget the day she had told him that she was carrying his child.

She had sat her beau down on her bed, and Bellamy had been so worried — judging from the look on her face — that she would say something was wrong. He had asked her, she remembered, with evident concern in his eyes. He had been noticing her sickness, her fatigue, and her inability to eat. He hadn't thought it was anything more than common sickness.

She had said the words, "Bellamy, we're having a baby," and had showed him her blood test results. At first he hadn't been sure what she had been trying to tell him, and his mind took a moment to wrap itself around the news. When the realisations had dawned, his face had broken into the largest smile she had ever seen.

He had taken her into a fierce hold, and soon after, they had wasted the whole day in bed. They had discussed names, its potential gender, and who it may take after more.

They also discussed their right to bear children; would they be placing the child in any danger? Was the ground ready to welcome a Skaikru baby? Was the camp? Their joyous night became a worrisome one, but it had resulted in the knowledge and confirmation that both the baby's parents wanted it, would cherish it, love it, and care for it like their lives depended on it. Sometimes, it was the only thing the two were ever sure of, besides their love for one another.

Their relationship had soon become a lot harder to conceal from the public eye when Clarke had began to show. The people of Arkadia had been starting to talk, and rumours had been sparking.

When they had realised it was futile to try and hide it any further, they had decided to debut their relationship to the camp with their wedding. Their audience made big of their subtle gestures; grasped hands, simple kisses, even prolonged dinners. Soon their union had become a regularity at Arkadia.

Caspian Lincoln Blake had been born in the middle of the morning. He had been a healthy baby, and the entirety of camp has been eager to meet him. He was the first baby born on the ground— making him the first official Skaikru grounder.

Kane was godfather, Octavia godmother. There were no formal ceremonies, only whispered proposals and emotional agreements.

The same had been for their union. No ceremonies. Only a simple white dress and a trip to the Butterfly Forest. Abby had given Clarke the ring she had given Jake when she married him; an engraved band of gold. Octavia gave Bellamy the ring their mother had given her when she had turned sixteen; a single diamond set in a band of platinum, passed down through the Blake daughters.

Things were simple on the ground. No more war. No more pain. No more suffering.

* * *

As Bellamy woke up to the cries of his son for the fourth time that night, he found himself buried in Clarke's shoulder. Still fast asleep, she held him to her tightly. Gently, he pried her off of him to stand up, but couldn't help be reminded of the days when they didn't have Caspian, where they were still waiting on his arrival. They had felt his first kick together, when they were both rudely awakened by the movement.

Both had collapsed into bed as soon as they had returned from a long day at work. Bellamy's head had been resting on Clarke's stomach as they had both fallen asleep that afternoon, for a quick nap to reenergise. Caspian had kicked angrily, waking them both up instantly. They had looked at each other in disbelief, and waited for it to happen again.

Bellamy walked over to Caspian, trying to stifle a yawn. It was two hours since he had last put him down — right on time. He was full. He was changed. He didn't have a fever— which Bellamy made sure of. He wasn't cold or too warm either. Bellamy concluded that he just needed to be held.

He picked Caspian up, gently bringing him up to perch on his shoulder. The screaming became a lot louder, instantly waking Clarke up. She sat up in bed, hair a mess. "I'm awake," she muttered.

"It's okay, he's just whining. Go back to sleep."

"Okay."

Bellamy continued to rock little Caspian, sometimes switching the arm he held him in, sometimes turning him on his back. Clarke had somehow managed to fall asleep again, so Bellamy had to lightly shake her to get her attention.

"I'm just going to take Caspian out for a walk, okay? It doesn't seem like he wants to settle anytime soon."

A groggy Clarke looked up at him and nodded. "Don't forget his jacket. It's cold today."

Bellamy nodded and let her go back to sleep. He picked up a bottle, a washcloth, and Caspian's jacket. He also draped the wooden knit over his shoulders as he took his son outside into the chilly night.

The sun was due in an hour, and he knew the camp's construction workers would be getting up soon. He kept to the edges of camp to avoid waking up any colleagues with Caspian's incessant bawling.

Bellamy shushed the child in a constant hum as he rocked him slowly, back and forth. The blanket hung from his shoulders, shifting with every movement. He stifled another yawn as he walked over to the edge of the river, where the Butterfly Forest began. The blue lights managed to silence the cries for only a moment, before they resumed again. Unsure of what else to do, Bellamy found a seat on a nearby log, and held his head in his free hand as the baby continued to bawl.

"Caspian," he mumbled. "Guess what?"

Again, the cries stopped for a moment, like he was listening, but he resumed shortly after. Bellamy had half the mind to just continue talking to him. So he did.

He placed Caspian stomach down on his leg, and draped an appropriate blanket over his tiny body. With one hand he rubbed circles on the infant's back, and the other held his own chin up. "This is where Mommy and I got married. Right by this ledge. did you know that?"

Even though he knew the child couldn't answer, he paused. The crying had turned into a gentle whine, and Caspian's eyes were opened as though he were listening to every word. Perhaps he was.

So the two watched the sun rise from the depths of the butterfly domain, Bellamy chattering and Caspian blabbering along in response.

When Clarke woke up again, Caspian and Bellamy were both dozing. Se found her husband in the corner, spread along the length of the sofa, their baby on his chest. One arm protectively fenced the child, not allowing him to turn and fall over even in his sleep.

Se knelt beside the family they had started, gently grazing the noses of both Caspian and Bellamy with soft kisses. Neither stirred, and she left with a smile gracing her lips.

* * *

Three years later they were expecting again. By then, several other Skaikru people decided to have children of their own, and Caspian had children his age to play with. This time, however, Bellamy seemed to know before she did. As she came to tell him, he had this cheeky smile on, and she knew he knew. They welcomed a daughter, Meredith Grace, before the end of the year. She was a lot angrier than her brother, but a lot easier to soothe.

When she was four, her parents welcomed twins Rose Elizabeth and Sebastian Alfred. Caspian was old enough to begin helping around the house, and he took a strong liking to his first brother. Over the years, the two boys grew to be quite close, and were always up to some mischievous act or another.

When they had their fifth, they decided it was enough. She had been the only planned baby, a final kick in the face to the Ark's 'one-child rule'. Their last child was born twelve years after their first; Bianca Snow. The two parents had their hands full, with children that more often than not chose to outnumber them.

They family made full use of the term _it takes a village_. Most often, the people of Arkadia were more than happy to babysit the five kids whenever Bellamy and Clarke needed more than five minutes of silence. The family grew closer with the camp.

Because they were always worried for the welfare of their children, the parents never hunted together anymore. The risks of such an act were too high; they took turns with who stayed at home with the children and who brought in the night's meals.

Apart from their hunting jobs, both steadily earned through their occupations as a security guard and a medic. Both skillets were also quite useful at home.

Soon, as the family of seven would come to realise, Bellamy and Clarke were no longer scarred by the incidents of their past. As the years floated on, the terrible acts they were forced to carry out became nothing more than a fleck in their memory.

* * *

 **Thank you, to everyone who has stuck by this story. This was supposed to be a one-shot, but I realized that there was no way I could possible fit this all into one chapter.**

 **Officially, this story is complete. Thank you for reading, and as always, I hope you enjoyed.**


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